CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NADIA
I couldn’t concentrate on work. No matter how hard I tried, the image haunted me.
The image of Alex, his hand gripping his cock alongside, the soft groans that escaped his lips. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him exposed. Goodness knows how many times the twins had forced me to touch them and even suck their dicks.
But this was different.
It wasn’t about power or Alex wanting control this time-it was just him, lost in his pleasure. The way he moved, the low, guttural sounds, it unnerved me in a way I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just disgust or fear, though those were there too.
There was something else, something that sent a chill through my body, something I hated admitting even to myself.
I’d tried to push it out of my mind, but it clung to me like a shadow. I hated him, hated everything he represented. And yet, a part of me wanted to feel all of it with him.
I shuddered, lying on my bed. I had 30 minutes before my next shift. It was not enough time to sleep, but just enough time to let my thoughts spiral.
Closing my eyes, I let the image creep in again. Alex, his hand moving with agonizing precision, his head tilted back, lost in a world I wasn’t part of. My thighs pressed together instinctively, the heat pooling low in my stomach.
“No,” I whispered to myself, but my hand was already moving to my vagina. My fingers found the sensitive nub, and I gasped, the relief immediate. My movements were quick, and desperate, as if I could chase away the image by indulging it.
I slid my fingers lower, finding that familiar warmth. The intrusion sent a jolt through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. The rhythm came naturally, my mind replaying that forbidden memory over and over.
Shame clawed at me, but I didn’t stop. I could not stop.
When it was over, I lay there, trembling, thighs pressed together as if to contain the aftershocks.
Looking at my clock, I had twenty minutes left.
I pushed myself off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, my body still humming with the memory of something I didn’t want to feel.
I was lucky enough to secure multiple jobs that I worked on shifts. It wasn’t easy juggling them all, especially when it meant only spending a couple of hours at home each day. The days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion, but I was grateful. At least now I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone else to pay my bills like Sandro had done…
I hate to remember that day!
The independence, the freedom that came with earning my own money, was a relief, a weight off my shoulders. But as much as I tried to focus on the positives, there was one thing that kept gnawing at me-the hurt of missing out on the inter-school basketball competition.
Basketball had always been my escape, my way of forgetting everything else. The thrill of the game, the rush of adrenaline, and the camaraderie with my teammates were things I lived for. But with all the shifts I had to cover, there was no way I could make it to the practices, let alone the competition.
Every time I thought about it, a deep sadness welled up inside me. I could practically feel the court under my feet, hear the sound of the ball bouncing, and the cheers from the crowd. But all of that was just a memory now, a dream I had to let go of in the face of reality.
Work became my life during the summer holiday. I would leave the house early in the morning, sometimes before the sun even rose, and wouldn’t return until late at night. My bed became the only thing I looked forward to at the end of the day.
The fatigue was bone-deep, and yet, somehow, I managed to keep going. It wasn’t just the bills that kept me moving. It was the knowledge that I was doing this for myself, that every hour spent working brought me closer to the life I wanted-a life where I didn’t have to beg so hard to please Mr. Thomas to give me a little more time to pay my rent.
Or one where I would not have to let the twins take advantage of me as a way of paying my debt while still getting embarrassed.
Despite the grueling schedule, there was something that always managed to brighten my day, something that made all the hard work feel a little less lonely. Every time I came home from work, there would be a small bouquet on my doorstep, along with a letter.
At first, I was confused, even a little suspicious. Who would be leaving flowers for me? I didn’t have any close friends around, and it wasn’t like I was in a relationship. But as the days went by, the flowers kept appearing, always fresh and beautiful, and the letters… the letters were what got to me.
They left me with a burning curiosity. Who was writing them? There was never a name, never any clue as to who it could be. At first, I tried to brush it off, telling myself it didn’t matter. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to be known. But as time went on, I found myself thinking about it more and more. Every time I found a new letter, I would scan it for any hint, any sign of who it might be, but there was nothing.
My curiosity grew each day, and it got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know who was leaving these flowers and letters for me. I needed to understand why. So, I decided to call Jasmine. She was the only person I could talk to about this, and I was convinced that she would help me figure this out.
I told her everything-the flowers, the letters, the mystery behind it all. Jasmine listened patiently, and when I was done, she was quiet for a moment. Then, she said, “You need to set a trap.”
I blinked, not sure I had heard her right. “A trap?” I repeated, confusion lacing my words.
“Yeah, a trap,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “You need to catch this person in the act. Here’s what you do: tomorrow, don’t go to work. Pretend you’re leaving, but stay inside and watch from the window. That way, when the person comes to drop off the flowers, you’ll see who it is.”
I hesitated. The idea sounded…well, it sounded ridiculous, like something out of a movie. But Jasmine was insistent. “It’s worth it,” she said. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know who’s been doing this?”
Of course, I was curious. That was the whole reason I had called her. But I was also nervous. What if it was someone I didn’t want to see? What if it was some kind of prank? The thought of finding out the truth was almost as scary as not knowing.
But, as she had always done in the past, Jasmine had a way of convincing me, and eventually, I agreed to her plan. I didn’t feel great about it, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I found out who it was. So, the next day, I followed her instructions. I called in sick to work and stayed home, my heart pounding with nerves.
I made it look like I was leaving for work, even going so far as to lock the door behind me, before quietly slipping back into the house. I stationed myself by the window, making sure I had a clear view of the front door. And then I waited. Time seemed to slow down, every minute stretching out into an eternity. I started to doubt myself, started to think that maybe this was all a huge mistake…maybe the person had seen me, and had decided not to drop anything today.
But then, just when I was about to give up, I saw someone approaching my house. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized him. It was Jack, my ex-classmate from college. He was the last person I would have expected. What was he doing here? Surely, he was not the one dropping the flowers!
I watched as he looked around as if to make sure no one was watching. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out a small bouquet and a letter, just like all the ones I had been receiving. He crouched down and gently placed them on my doorstep, his movements careful and deliberate, like he was handling something precious.
My heart was racing now, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Why Jack? Why had he been doing this? And more importantly, how had he found out where I lived? I knew there was only one way to get answers.
Before he could leave, I threw open the door and stepped outside. “Jack!” I called out, my voice shaking with a mixture of anger and confusion.
Jack froze, his body tensing as he slowly turned around to face me. The shock on his face was unmistakable. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at me, like he couldn’t believe I was there. “N-Nadia?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn’t give him a chance to recover. “What are you doing here, Jack? How did you even find out where I live?” My voice was sharp, the anger bubbling up to the surface. I could see the discomfort on his face, the way he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was the last time I had heard from him, and the pain that had followed.
His eyes darted around as if looking for an escape, but there was none. Finally, he met my gaze, his face pale. “I…I can explain,” he began, but I cut him off.
“Oh, you can explain?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You can explain how you rejected me with a letter? How you broke my heart without even having the decency to say it to my face? And now you’re here, leaving flowers and sweet little notes like nothing happened? You have some nerve, Jack, really.”
Jack’s expression crumbled at my words, his shoulders slumping. He looked genuinely distressed, but I was too angry to care. “Nadia, I never wrote that letter,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of desperation that took me by surprise. “I can never reject you, and you know it. What are you talking about?.”
I stared at him, my mind reeling. “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Of course, you wrote it. It had your name on it.”
He shook his head, taking a hesitant step towards me. “No, Nadia. I swear on my blood, that I didn’t write that letter. I wrote a different one, one that I…well, I never got the chance to give it to you myself. I asked Mark to deliver it because I had to leave town before the last exam. But something must have gone wrong. I don’t know what happened, but the letter you got…that wasn’t from me.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. His words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I had spent so long hating him for that letter, so long resenting him for the way he had rejected me without having the guts to say them before me. And now he was standing here, telling me that it had all been a mistake, that someone else had ruined what could have been?
But I wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. The pain was still too fresh, too real. “I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice shaking. “Even if what you’re saying is true, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re here now, doing all of this behind my back. You should have just stayed away, Jack. Just get out!”
He looked like someone who had been drenched in the rain. “Nadia, please, you should listen to me,” he pleaded.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Jack!,” I said, resenting him even more. “You know what? Wait for me.” I quickly rushed inside, gathered all the previous letters and flowers he had sent to me, and threw them at him. “Take it to someone else. My heart can never be for you!”
Did I mean those words?
Well, only time will tell!
He picked up the flowers and letters, looked at me, and said, “I will never be able to get you off my mind.”
“Then go to hell with it!”